


Southby

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Austin Texas, M/M, SxSW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "I just really like the idea of Human Rockband AUs ;w;Bonus+ Bunnymund’s in the band and Jack’s a fan++ Based off the song Catch Me If You Can (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JjoVGduNy9c)+++ They have sort of an on-off relationship which makes one of them get kinda frustrated and confront the other about it."I got bonus one! Anyway, Jack goes to SXSW on a whim, gets sick because living off free breakfast tacos and beer for a week is a bad idea, and then, through a wondrous coincidence, meets some of the biggest names in the business.Haha I wrote this because I’m kind of homesick.
Relationships: E. Aster Bunnymund/Jack Frost
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: JackRabbit Short Fics





	Southby

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 1/10/2014.

Jack wiped sweat from his forehead, regretting his decision to wear a sweatshirt today, though he knew he probably should be regretting a host of earlier uninformed decisions, like the one to fly out to Southby on a discount ticket without knowing who he would be staying with or when Bunny would be playing.   
  
At least his accommodations had turned out all right. For the last three days he had been sleeping on a sofa in a house true Austinites were renting to him and four other guys at a truly exorbitant price—where the owners were staying, he wasn’t sure. Wherever sane people went when huge music festivals, Spring Break, and St. Patrick’s Day combined, he supposed. Anyway, the cost of the sofa was more than made up for by the app he and the others had downloaded that gave the location of all the free beer and food throughout the festival.  
  
Now, though, he was wondering if surviving on samples from gourmet food trucks, questionable breakfast tacos wrapped in foil from everywhere, and free Shiner in plastic (RECYCLE ME! MADE FROM CORN!) cups was really the best way to go. It was only 11 am and he wasn’t feeling so hot—or rather, he was feeling too hot. Did he have a fever? Did his body just hate him for skipping spring and going straight to summer? He couldn’t! He refused! After a whole lot of cursing at a whole lot of websites, he had finally determined that Bunny was going to be playing _tonight_.  
  
No. He could do this. He just needed to last nine more hours and then the concert and then he could collapse. But he wouldn’t, because after the concert he’d feel so full of life and energy and hope that nothing would bring him down for days!  
  
At noon, he was pretty sure he had a fever.  
  
At 1, someone in the group he was hanging around with said, “Hey, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should go back to the house for a while.”  
  
At 1:17, he agreed.   
  
The bus was crowded and didn’t go where he expected it to. Apparently the same number ran two routes and he was supposed to ask the driver which one this would follow. Also, there was a detour. But not a Southby detour? Nothing made sense.   
  
By 4, he staggered into the rented house and drank about a quart of water straight from the tap.   
  
When he woke up at 6, he felt a little better. The bus map on his phone seemed to be working again, and he rushed out the door. The ticket was in his pocket, he wasn’t going to be afraid to ask directions, and nothing could possibly go wrong.  
  
Only after boarding the bus did he realize he had forgotten his shoes. No one said anything about it though. _Austin,_ he thought with a shrug.  
  
At the release party he stopped at before the concert to get some food, he realized after about his seventh fried ravioli that his recovery had only been temporary.  
  
As he made his way very, very slowly towards Bunny’s show, he came to an unavoidable conclusion: If he went inside the venue, to push up amongst all the other general admission concertgoers, to fight towards the edge of the stage, he would puke on someone. If he was close enough to the front when that happened, Bunny might even notice him.  
  
That was not how he wanted to be noticed by Bunny.  
  
He leaned up against a wall, now shivering in his sweatshirt though it wasn’t much cooler, feeling very sorry for himself. Around him, the crowds on SoCo bustled by under the cycles of traffic lights, the garish neon from bars and restaurants, and the harsh fluorescents of store displays. Jack glanced into the store he was leaning against. A mangy taxidermy baboon snarled at him from within and Jack didn’t know if it was the creature itself or the price tag reading $3000 was what made him feel more immediately like puking in the street and justifying to the locals their “welcome-please don’t move here” campaign.  
  
However, just then, a huge man with elaborate sleeve tattoos wearing a red t-shirt appeared behind him in the glass, distracting him from his nausea. “Are you okay, friend?” A strongly Russian-accented voice asked as the tattooed arms turned him around.   
  
“He’s probably just another drunk,” a British voice said, as Jack found himself staring up (and up) in astonishment at Nick St. North, composer, producer, and keyboardist extraordinaire.  
  
“This does not mean we should be leaving him on the street,” St. North said. “As you know.” He peered down at Jack. “Are you okay?”  
  
Jack nodded slightly, then shook his head. “I—is this for real? I mean…I’m okay…I’m just sick.”  
  
The back of a huge hand pressed against his forehead and St. North nodded. “You should not be wandering around alone with fever and no shoes,” he began, and Jack nodded again slightly. He wasn’t really listening to what St. North was saying, being too busy staring at the company he was keeping.  
  
Toothiana, glittering as she ever was in any of her videos, though with no wings on and holding a pair of improbably high heels by the back straps as if they weren’t marvels of engineering that cost more than any car Jack had ever driven. She was shorter in person than he had imagined, and slighter, too. It was hard to believe that she was the one with a vocal range that forced everyone who tried to cover certain of her songs into duets.  
  
Kozmotis Pitchiner, the scariest man in rock and roll, recognizable without his Pitch Black makeup by his beaky nose, looking tanned and relaxed. He was even—no, this was too weird—wearing _cowboy boots_ , of all things. His must have been the British voice Jack had heard.  
  
And, most astoundingly, the enigmatic Sanderson Mansnoozie, who had never found a genre he didn’t like (or didn’t excel in), as long as it was instrumental. He smiled sunnily at Jack, his broad, round face topped with a crown of blond spikes much more forgiving than the real sun, as if he was the one who should be excited that they were meeting.   
  
Jack wasn’t sure if it was the fever making him feel faint anymore.  
  
“So obviously you will be coming with us,” St. North concluded.  
  
“What!” Jack squeaked.  
  
“Nick, why don’t we just get him a cab?” Toothiana asked.  
  
“Because I have good feeling about him!”  
  
“ _Not_ another miracle stray…” Pitchiner said wearily.  
  
“ _You_ should not be scornful!” St. North said sharply. “Besides, should be no problem. If…friend, what is your name?”  
  
“Jack.”  
  
“Okay, so Jack, what are you thinking of big collaboration, all us here and Bunny?”  
  
“Oh my god,” Jack breathed.  
  
“That’s supposed to be a secret!” Toothiana said, rolling her eyes as if she’d said the same thing many times before.  
  
“Is only supposed to be secret until Bunny agrees. Jack here seems to think is good plan, we bring him along to persuade.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Jack said again.  
  
“So is settled!”  
  


* * *

  
  
Jack would have thought the rest of the evening was a fever dream—watching most of Bunny’s show from backstage, participating vaguely in a fast-paced discussion between the musicians and some rather colorless people, celebrating the result afterward with aspirin and something else that Sandy had assured him wouldn’t interfere with it, meeting Bunny, who was smart as a whip under his persona and hotter than the sun under his makeup—had it not been for the next morning. (Some of it, he wasn’t sure hadn’t been a fever dream or some other kind of hallucination. It was difficult to imagine that he had really seen the scariest man in rock and roll making out with Sandy until Toothiana had sprayed them with Goldschlager like they were a couple of unruly cats, but nevertheless the memory was there.)  
  
“Jack,” Bunny said, resting one hand on the roof of the cab he had called for him. “You know that thing you signed last night? If, uh, you remember. Well, basically, if you mention the Guardians project to anyone, there’s a shit-ton of trouble you could get into. But if you want,” he glanced Jack up and down, and Jack didn’t know if that was worth blushing over but he did anyway, “you could still talk to me about it.” He pressed a small piece of paper into Jack’s hand. “It’s my personal phone. And, hey. Maybe we could meet up at another show. I’d like to meet you when you’re not likely to give me laryngitis in the middle of a tour.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tags from Tumblr:
> 
> #I miss Austin#even the abbreviation is AUS#as in multiple AUs#it makes sense that I should live there#come visit me#but you're not allowed to stay#we don't have enough roads#you might think I'm kidding but I'm not


End file.
